


Delicate

by tea_leaf_reader



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Body Horror, Fae & Fairies, Gen, It just sort of happened so here it is, Magical Accidents, This is not at all what I was planning on writing next for this fandom but here we are, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 19:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14119338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_leaf_reader/pseuds/tea_leaf_reader
Summary: Neil helps out with a magic trick at Harrison's request. Things go downhill from there.





	Delicate

There he was, scared, ass-naked, and shaking like some sort of wild animal that had been spooked by its own shadow and nothing more. It was miserable in itself, even more so because he couldn’t wrap his head around what had just happened no matter how hard he try, and the thundering voices overhead weren’t helping him in his efforts to pull himself together and concentrate and–

The side of the tipped-over watering can where he was hiding was jostled ever so slightly, and he screamed as a ray of sunshine hit his exposed form, but nothing more. No eyes to look at what had become of him, no fingers to poke and prod at him, no hands that could reach in an conceivably cover him with room to spare and Christ, the thought of it made him lightheaded and filled his stomach with a sense of molten dread all at once. Thankfully, the clamoring voices around had him fallen silent, and he gulped, collecting himself as best as he could.

He still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, but he knew that he blamed Harrison. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he thought that blame probably wasn’t misguided nor wrong in any way, shape, or form. They’d been watching one of the illusionist’s “magic tricks”, he, Nikki, Max, and Space Kid, and the ingrate had had the audacity to ask if he wanted to participate in his next trick, and  _of course_  he’d said yes because though his friends firmly believed Harrison could do things outside of the realm of possibility (well, maybe except for Space Kid), he didn’t, and proving Harrison wrong in front of what was basically half the camp was simply too sweet of an opportunity for him to pass up. 

If he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t remember much, just Harrison’s idiotic accent bleeding through as he shouted the incantation to no one in particular, his gloved digits wiggling next to Neil’s head for that final flourish in his act (what an imbecile) as the words slipped off his tongue and materialized in the air surrounding them, and then there’d been a strange pinprick in his lower abdomen (almost like a stray ember from a fire had somehow found its way to the campsite and to Neil) and as that small cinder floated to and fro, it burned hotter and brighter before it finally punctured him, sending him crashing to his knees in a flurry of pain so intense that it made the ninety degree weather look cool in comparison.

And then he’d noticed the grass, and how it seemed to be leaping up to greet him what with the individual blades shooting upwards at an alarmingly fast pace, and he observed that the fabric of his shirt seemed to be caving in on him just as his shoes slipped off his feet, an impossible feat seeing as how they’d fit fine a few seconds ago, and that’s about the time that he had scrambled and had ran, ran and ran and ran until he’d spotted the watering can (David’s no doubt because who among them would have a watering can besides him?) and ducked beneath it, the coldness of the rusted, weather-worn metal a welcome feeling. 

But even that, too, had let him down, or perhaps he had let it down by becoming too small to enjoy it properly, and pretty soon the cramped interior of the watering can was spacious, and he felt himself tremble with what he realized was a laugh. Here he was, underneath a watering can, and it was only when the absurdity of the situation at hand fully hit him that he noted that the cacophony of voices had started up, too loud, too close, too real for him to process. Vaguely, he almost wished he could curl up into an even tighter ball, or perhaps shrink some more until he was a mere speck.

Yet now they were gone, though he was positive whoever was out there was still hovering just above his hiding place, debating on whether or not to uncover what was inside, but that didn’t quite matter the moment another pang of discomfort erupted, but this one wasn’t here to take its time, no, this one was a sharp laceration that was segmenting his spine into halves, quarters, itty-bitty pieces of bone fragments and gelatinous blood that he was going to vomit out alongside the contents of this morning’s half-digested breakfast if he wasn’t careful. But did it matter at this point if he was dying like he surmised he was? He didn’t know, and would never be given the chance to follow through with that line of thought as the aching, the soreness, the agony traveled up through his arms and into his hands and down his legs and into his feet, wringing them around and around until they felt fit to fall off.

And then it was over, minutes later, an eternity later, maybe both, maybe neither, and he looked up to see his sweating, shivering reflection mirrored back at him in the surface of the watering can as dirty and as dismal as that surface may be.

They were delicate things, the appendages that were sticking out like a sore thumb on his back, and he couldn’t rightfully tell with the lack of sufficient lighting if they were flora or fauna, plant or creature, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to tell even if the lighting was _indeed_ optimal. And his hands, oh, his hands and his feet and a bit of his legs and arms both had changed, lightening and becoming more slender, more pointed, not soft skin and fingers and toes and familiar, human parts, but unmovable, unshakable implements that were outright bizarre, foreign,  _inhuman_. 

None of it was recognizable because none of it was him. 

He choked on another laugh.

Through the thick fog he had found himself submersed in, he made out the jumbled pieces of a heated conversation happening just above him. 

“Is he okay?” Space Kid’s voice was more distant than the others, but no less full of concern.

“Of course he’s not fucking okay, dumbass, did you  _see_  what happened to him?” Max’s was a growl (but then again, when  _wasn’t_ Max’s voice a growl?) but this was something else, a raw sort of anger funneled at everyone and no one at the same time.

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” Nikki’s voice, also worried, but with that hint of optimism that would probably make him smile under any other circumstance.

“If  _he_  can fix him, then yeah.” Max again, uncertainty making his rage waver.

“But what if you can’t?!” Space Kid, probably talking directly to Harrison.

“Well, I’m going to try! I’m not just going to  _leave_  him like this!”  _His_  voice, Harrison’s stupid fucking voice, and a noise like silk being rubbed against silk in pure agitation. “…I didn’t mean for  _this_  to happen. I didn’t even think this could happen.” It was quieter now, laced with something he couldn’t make out, but still infuriating.

 _I’m going to try!_  So, it was not guaranteed he’d be himself again?

_But what am I? What did he do to me?!_

And that’s when Neil lost consciousness, sleep encroaching to momentarily numb him. He’d been stripped of many things in a great number of ways, and his body nor his mind could keep up with the constant strain it was putting on him anymore.

Perhaps it was a good thing not to feel for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in the notes, this is not at all what I was planning on writing, but the inspiration just sort of hit me and I thought mm, why not? I'd mentioned before while writing Magical Mishaps that I thought it would be fun to explore Neil's psyche if he got turned into a sprite, so I dabbled a bit in that here I suppose, and it was pretty fun. I may add more to this later, but it'll most likely remain as a one-shot so I can write other things (such as the one-shot I was supposed to be writing before this idea took over my mind as well as my hands for a solid hour to force itself into existence) so you'll just have to use your imagination to envision what a mess Neil is going to be when he wakes up. Also, I promise that not all of my stories are going to contain the fair folk or people transforming into faeries - it's just something I happen to have an interest in and something that cheers me up, so that's why I've been focusing on it lately. Besides, there's a lot of angst in this fandom already, so why not lighten the mood somewhat?


End file.
